


Meddling Kids Incorporated, Sans Dog

by swagpye (knightoftam)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aromantic/Asexual John, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Rose/Kanaya, One-Sided John Egbert/Dave Strider - Freeform, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Trans Character, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightoftam/pseuds/swagpye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost a year since you stopped playing the game, but the game never really stopped playing you.  And personally, you have had it with these motherfucking imps in this motherfucking new universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Endgame

**Author's Note:**

> [3/18/2016: Before you read, please note that I started writing this fic over three years ago and updates have been. Sporadic. Since then. It's got some issues. Be gentle with me.]
> 
> This part is really just a short prologue that takes place at the hypothetical end of Sburb. Remaining chapters will be set about a year later and deal with all the stuff that entails. (They will also be a lot longer, I promise)

You don't remember when Sburb stopped being the weird dream state and reality started being the thing that occupied your mind at night, the thing you could feel itching under your skin, kept you constantly doubting and worrying. You don't remember when the game and the life you had before the game switched places in your brain. You don't remember when that life stopped being real life, and you don't really want to.

Hell, at this point, you'd be happy to dream again at all.

"You're doing that on purpose."

The warm mass you're pressed up against jostles you slightly, and you make an incoherent noise in reply. It was supposed to be a question, but. Whatever. He probably gets the gist.

John laughs softly. "Making yourself heavier. Come on dude, I know you can fly too."

He sounds breathless, and you somehow find the presence of mind to frown in concern as he shifts your weight across his shoulders. He's shaking a little, so you force your eyelids about halfway open, flinching against the bright veins of energy still crackling against the blackness as paradox space unravels itself around you. The flashes of light are enough that when your gaze trails down his side, you can see dark splotches soaking through the sky blue of his god tier pjs. Fuck.

"It's hard enough hauling Karkat's dumb alien butt through space," John adds, and you can't really see past him, but you picture him dragging the troll along by the scruff of his neck with his other hand. You can't hear anything except John, though, and you wonder if Karkat's already passed out. "It'd be cool if my best bro could stop being a lazy piece of crap and help out for a bit."

You refrain from telling him that his idea sounds like the furthest thing from cool you can think of, and that you think Karkat might actually have the right idea. Instead, you take as deep a breath as you can when it feels like your ribs have all turned inwards and started embroidering a mural in honour of recklessness onto the surface of your lungs, feel your poker face settle over your expression — only slightly more strained than usual, your bro would be proud — and let yourself fall back into a familiar mode of grisly determination. It's easier to put up with the pain when you remember that it's not for you. It's easier to suffer when you glance up at the set jaw and sparking blue eyes of the scruffy-haired kid beside you, when you see one of Karkat's limp arms flopping around behind him. You think you'd probably die for them. But that wouldn't do any good right now, so you do what you've always done. You soldier on.

John makes a surprised noise when he feels you shift beside him and all three of you surge forward and up a few feet, thanks to the addition of your own floaty god tier powers.

"Whoa, I didn't think you were awake," John says. He sounds relieved, and you can't help but feel a little proud.

"Don't wanna risk dying now," you mumble, the words barely making it past your lips. "Too heroic."

He chuckles. "Yeah, I guess it would be." He stares resolutely ahead, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "But honestly, I don't know how much any of that matters anymore. I think the game's falling apart with us still in it. I don't even know where we're going."

"It matters," you try and say, but it comes out more like a soft grunt.

John hums in reply, seemingly distracted. After a few seconds, he says, "I got Karkat too, before everything started blowing up. In case you were wondering. I mean, I know you two are friends now, apparently..." He trails off for a second, and your brain is too fuzzy to work out why. He coughs into his hood, sounding more than a little ragged, and continues, "He's out cold right now like the huge inconsiderate asshole he is, but he'll probably be fine."

Your eyes slide shut again without you realizing it, but you feel John's hand give your arm a reassuring squeeze and you use the rhythm of that motion to keep you going, keep you putting one foot ahead of the other. Metaphorically. Floaty god tier powers and all.

"It'll be okay, Dave," John murmurs. "I've got you."


	2. 11 Months

It's been a while since the two of you have really gotten any time alone to talk, so for once you take Rose up on her offer when she comes to you on Saturday night with her weekly Scrabble solicitations.

As it turns out, she must have meant "alone" in the same sense that considers her and her alien girlfriend to make up a single unit of disgustingly functional teenage domesticity, because Kanaya is already seated in the corner of the study (wrapped in an emerald robe and reading the kind of book that you can only imagine appealing to Rose and people Rose is predisposed to fall in love with) when you and your ecto-sis get there. The troll looks up and smiles at you as you enter, assuring you that she won't interrupt your game and that you won't even know she's there.

You wonder why Rose felt the need to have backup close at hand tonight, but nevertheless slouch into one of the fancy antique chairs Rose had been determined to furnish her study with. After the end of the game John's dad and Rose's mom had bought an old house in a quiet neighbourhood for everyone to live in (the trolls, with the exception of Kanaya, had declined the offer of cohabitation with varying degrees of politeness and then somehow managed to come into possession of their own house down the street). The house had already been respectably furnished when you got here but that hadn't stopped the group's token space lesbian power couple from making some 'improvements' here and there over the last year. This particular room, which you seem to recall smelling like dust and the stale toddler urine of decades past before you moved in, now smells strongly of furniture polish and something vaguely cinnamony. Rose retrieves the game box from the bookshelf and browses through a drawer of her desk for pen and paper, and when she's ready the two of you settle in for an evening of brain-building recreational activity.

It all goes pretty smoothly for the first few minutes, but at exactly 4 minutes and 13 seconds something changes and she looks up at you, tipping her head just slightly, in that way that makes it feel like she's scanning your brain for viruses. In spite of the relative protection offered by your shades, you avoid her gaze. 4:13. Really. You know she's just doing it to bother you, break you down a little bit before she dives in for the kill, but she's gotten scarily good at using your own aspect against you over the last few months. Either she's keeping a stopwatch somewhere or she's been sapping your powers while you sleep.

"You're quiet this evening," she says simply.

You resist the urge to narrow your eyes, instantly suspicious of her light tone. "I'm concentrating."

Rose breaks eye contact with you for a moment to raise an eyebrow at the board between you. "The last three words you played were 'at,' 'bag,' and 'cod'. Truly, your dedication to this game is breathtaking."

"I'm concentrating now so I can catch up, okay?" you mutter. "Don't turn this on me just 'cause you're getting scared I'll beat you and your... cock sick whatever...."

"Coccyx," she supplies. "It's part of your spine."

"Christ, it's on a triple word score too. How do you even do that."

"Please don't give me too much credit. Mutie could beat you in your current state if she had the manual dexterity to do so."

You choose a few tiles from your selection almost without thinking about it and put them on the board as casually as possible. 'Car.' Nice. At this rate you'll pass kindergarten in no time.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you say. "No for real, I actually, honestly, literally do not have a single fucking clue what that's supposed to mean. My current state. Seriously? Do I have some kind of plague you know about and I don't? Did someone die? Should I be reacting? Did Karkat choke to death on his own rage spit and I'm only just hearing about it now?"

"Not yet," Rose says, delicately laying down the tiles for 'whorl' perpendicular to your hard-earned 'car'. She makes eye contact with you again as she reaches for the bag. "When was the last time you updated your comic, Dave?"

"Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff?"

"That would be the one."

"Since when did you start caring about my comic?"

"Since 11 months passed with only one new installment released, a page which as I recall contained nothing but the lower right half of Sweet Bro's face and a halfheartedly shitty rainbow caption reading, 'Balls'."

"If you already knew the answer then why did you ask."

"What about your youtube channel? How long has it been since you recorded any music or destroyed anyone's childhood by butchering clips from classic Disney?"

"A while."

"Yes. A while. Eight months is definitely a while."

You spell out a purposefully antagonistic 'hapen' and she doesn't even complain. "If you just wanted to spout facts at me I don't know why you didn't just set me up a hot date with that dictionary over there, at least it'd be telling me stuff I don't already know—"

"You're stagnating," Rose says. You roll your eyes, but of course she doesn't see — who are you kidding, even if she could see she would keep going. In fact it'd probably encourage her. "You don't have any new projects. You barely keep up with the schoolwork John's father has been getting for us. You have no drive, no goals, no ambition—" and okay, that's just a little too far, you open your mouth because you've got something to say about that, that is complete bullshit like you can't even believe, but it looks like she isn't interested in letting you defend yourself anytime soon — "you don't talk to anyone new, and if it weren't for the fact that no one else in this household can keep up with the rate at which you devour bagel bites, you would probably never leave the house at all."

"For the record I don't remember anyone even bothering to try and keep up. And why are you laying this all on me anyway? I don't know if you've noticed but we have all fallen down a few more stairs into into the Land of Twitching and Social Anxiety since the game ended."

"If you would stop deflecting long enough to actually listen to me you might realize that I am not attacking you out of spite, nor am I trying to claim that you're the only one still suffering through some of the long-term effects of our shared traumatic experience." There's a bit of a sharp tinge in her voice when she speaks. The subtext reads, You don't get special treatment for being wounded, Dave. Or it would if you were the kind of person who paid any attention to those cues. But you aren't that kind of person, and you definitely do not let it get to you at all even slightly. "I am simply stating the facts as openly and bluntly as I can, since the last several months of picking my way around the topic as gently as I can have proven that nothing else will work on you."

"And why exactly does it need to work on me, if we're all so equally traumatized?"

She slaps down her next set of tiles a bit more forcefully than she needs to, making Kanaya look up in surprise. You don't bother reading what Rose put down, choosing instead to stare straight at her from behind your dark glasses. Challenging her. You don't really know what you're challenging her to do, but fuck if it isn't nice to see her getting agitated more quickly than you for a change.

"Because, you unbelievably truculent and unflatteringly oblivious twit, I care about you," she says. She has the nerve to keep her voice calm, the coldhearted witch, but there's definitely some frustration in her expression as she continues. "We all do. As I'm sure you're aware, not being completely stupid. But no matter how equally traumatized we may be, we are nowhere near equally rehabilitated. Everyone else seems to be making some degree of progress when it comes to reintegrating into society, and you're just... god knows what you're doing."

"Look Lalonde, if I wanted to spend my days tending flocks of screaming five-year-old girls and walking them through the time honoured ancestral ways of gluing macaroni onto soup cans, throwing cookies at them every few steps just to keep them from tearing me apart, I would already be doing it. Shit's just not my style, and I look fucking terrible in the uniform. Believe me, no one wants that."

"You know as well as I do that Jade's volunteer work in the community has done nothing but good for her and she should be commended for her ability to adapt so readily to a completely new world, although I'm not expecting you to suddenly develop an interest in youth leadership yourself. Nor am I recommending it. Or allowing it, for that matter."

"What are you expecting then?" you mumble, shoving your hands in your pockets. It's not easy to do in this chair, but the familiar gesture gives you a bit of comfort. "Want me to partner up with you so we can churn out some new erotic ebooks about magic dudes with beards, double time?"

"No Dave, I am not asking you to claim my projects as your own either," she says. Then she pauses. She's quiet for several seconds, watching you as if she's waiting for something, until you quirk your eyebrow questioningly and the corner of her mouth twitches in amusement.

"Well?" she says.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to take a sarcastic jab at John's activities too?"

"Didn't think I needed to. Paper route. Very chic. We're all impressed."

You glance down at your tiles and suddenly spot the opportunity for a much needed 'qwop,' which Rose allows for some reason. You wish you didn't know she was just distracted by your answer and that she was probably picking apart all possible interpretations of your words even as they left your mouth. As a matter of fact, she seems almost unusually lost in thought, tapping a single tile against the surface of the table. You're suddenly extremely not cool with the direction this is going, and your tongue takes over.

"Okay, you want me to round out the set of witty Strider remarks, I get that. I'm a big fan of equal opportunity burn distribution. How about this, the only thing colder and more miserable than John when he gets back from his invigorating daily 5 am bike ride through the rain is the prospect of him ever getting anything resembling a social life. John's obviously raring for a raise, pretty soon they might stop paying him in dinner mints and move on to real money. If John loves newspapers so much, why doesn't he marry them. John's throwing arm's been getting so much exercise lately, he's never been more sexually satisfied..."

You think you probably crossed some kind of freudian event horizon with that last one, so you manage to shut yourself up before you can do any more damage to your defenses. After taking a moment to put down an h under the o in your 'qwop' (what the fuck is she playing at), she looks up at you thoughtfully.

"Incidentally, have you talked to John lately? I believe he was looking for you this morning."

"I dunno. A couple days ago. Been busy." You put down some tiles. Rose gives you a look. "Had stuff on my mind," you clarify with a mumble.

"It will never cease to amaze me how thoroughly you manage to avoid someone who lives in the same house as you, Dave."

"I'm not avoiding him, I just want to." Your brain whirs in search of a suitable justification. "Karkat."

Rose's eyebrows have wandered so close to her hairline you think she might be in serious danger of losing them permanently. "You just want to Karkat," she repeats dubiously.

"No, John does. I mean. No wait, that's not what I mean. I just figured for both their sakes I should give them some space. Do the gentlemanly thing and let them bond over friendleader war stories and hot chocolate, or whatever the fuck it is they're drinking these days. Work out the no-homos, y'know."

"Karkat and John are getting along fine," Rose says. "That doesn't mean it wouldn't be good for you to spend some time with your friends too."

You don't say anything for a while. Rose surprisingly takes mercy on you and doesn't push the subject. Instead, she lays down seven tiles all at once, and you stare wordlessly at the board for a few more seconds before your brain finally registers what you're looking at.

"'Quizzed'. Are you shitting me right now."

"Unfortunately it appears I've missed the ideal gloating opportunity landing on another triple word score would have granted me. It should be fairly easy for you to hit one on your next turn, however."

"That's got to be fucking cheating."

"That's wizard chess." Rose leans back in her chair, impish smile stretched smugly across her features. "Wizard Scrabble. Apologies."

Your chair scrapes against the hardwood as you push back and get to your feet. "I think I'm just gonna. Go for a walk or something."

"That sounds like a great idea," Rose replies in an unnervingly chipper tone, marking down her final score and smiling to herself. "If you could stop by the store on your way back, that would be lovely. We're out of bagel bites."

You fire an accusing glare in her direction. "I knew those fuckers were disappearing too fast for me to be the only one going at 'em."

Her smile doesn't even waver as she leans back and eyes you slyly. "Thank you for the game, Dave. I hope you know that the next time you want to talk, all you have to do is ask."

"Wow thanks, I'll keep that in mind next time I want some sapphic teen oracle getting her meticulously trimmed nails all up in my business for the viewing pleasure of her sultry alien sidekick and whoever else happens to be in the room at the time." Kanaya frowns at this, but Rose is predictably unfazed by your scorn.

"Say hello to John for me," she says brightly as you stalk off, casually flipping her the bird before you exit into the main hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slow start, i've had most of this chapter done for weeks but i told myself i wasn't allowed to work on it until my exams were over. they're over now, so. there's that. anyway yeah this story is probably going to be long enough that i'll be able to practise sticking to a more timely update schedule quite a bit, so we'll see how that goes


	3. Monster in Manhattan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *does not actually take place in Manhattan

You start feeling a little bad about storming out on Rose by the time you're on the front porch, watching your breath condense on your shades as you inhale the frozen air, but no matter how painfully aware you are of the fact that your whole reclusive angst-ridden artist schtick is getting old to absolutely everyone you know, you can't quite bring yourself to actually be sorry. So what if you've been spending a little more time alone than usual. That's fine. Normal. Healthy maybe. Wasn't Rose the one who always used to harp on you for being too clingy or dependent or whatever?

The muffled ruckus of loud voices next door catches your attention as you shuffle over the trampled snow leading out to the main sidewalk, and you glance over at the neighbours' house instinctively. You still aren't sure putting 75% of your universe's total population of trolls in one dwelling was a great idea, much less putting this house smack up against yours, but at least you can wring some tiny pathetic drops of comfort from the knowledge that you're not the only one who thinks so. Ampora was so appalled by the concept that he went off and somehow managed to get a lease on an apartment of his own, maybe by claiming he had a skin condition or by making creative use of human coloured face paint — something that you still haven't quite finished finding hilarious. The fight between Peixes and Captor (and eventually Karkat, because whose fight isn't Karkat's fight) over whether they would let the fish girl go with him or not, on the other hand, was something you could stand to forget.

In the end she wound up going off to live with him after all. Even after all this time, you still don't get trolls.

There's a brief moment as you pass the trolls' driveway when you hear Karkat's yelling above everyone else's, relentlessly clawing his way to the top of the opinion pile as usual, and you consider dropping in on them just to see what's up, maybe drop off some of your own emotional baggage on their "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH IT OF COURSE IT'S HUMAN IT WAS AT THE WAL-MART" welcome mat while you're at it. But then you remember that the last time you talked to any of them was Thanksgiving and that was. What. A week ago? Nah, more like two. For some reason the thought of putting yourself on display in front of any of them right now makes your stomach give a kind of sick uneasy twist. You're a performer, you know you are, but you're not up to putting on the usual show tonight, so you fold yourself further into your scarf and keep walking.

You spend $15 on the worst examples of overpackaged, artery-buttering, lifespan-absorbing bullshit you can find at the corner store. The pasty kid at the till doesn't even blink when you fork over the cash and drag your bags off the counter. He's seen some shit; a few bags of chips and a box of bagel bites isn't enough to phase a dude like him anymore. You think about how most people buying this stuff don't have an unofficially adopted dad with lucrative shares in the world's largest alien-founded cooking company and aren't sure whether that's funny or not. You meet the kid's glazed, empty eyes before you turn to the exit and for that one brief moment, you are connected.

Gross.

"Have a good one," he says flatly, and you don't answer, because you're already out the door and planning the exact order you will gorge yourself on your purchases.

It's fucking cold. It's fucking cold and you aren't optimistic enough to think that this is as cold as it'll get. You spare a couple of seconds to shoot a few venomous thoughts in the Egberts' direction, with their unnatural northerner tendencies and disgusting lust for arctic climes. It was their money you guess, but with the amount of money they had to dick around with you'd think Dadbert would have been human enough to eschew the slushed up ditch that was the northeast and spring for a little vacation condo in the Bahamas or something. Hawaii maybe. Florida. Anything.

There's a poster duct taped to the streetlamp in front of the trolls' house, and before you even think about what you're doing you're shivering right beside it, skimming the smeared text for mentions of a band you care about. Vestigial instinct from your years in Texas, probably (not that you ever went to anything there either).

Unsurprisingly, it's not an ad for a concert. It's a lost dog with a grieving owner turning to bold graphic design as a coping device. Chocolate lab. Responds to Marty. Last seen on this street, yesterday. Reward, contact Vanessa if found, or if you know anything about the "green bear". What the fuck.

You make a note to tell Jade about it (she'd probably rather eat her own tail than let someone's lost dog go unsearched for) and step away from the pole, and that's when you hear the breathing.

A normal person wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary. It's quiet, almost a hiss, like steam escaping a manhole — something routinely urban and innocuous. But you grew up with a shitty sword in your fist for a reason and you've spent the best of your teenage years fighting monsters. You know one when you hear one.

You're completely still, even your shivering has stopped, and your brain whirrs in tight frantic circles around the decision of turning around. You know what you'll see already. 7 feet tall, fucking huge, natural armour, hands that look like the kind of hams you could feed twelve annoying relatives with at once. The last time you heard that breathing, you were fighting amber ogres on LOHAC. It should be weird to hear it here, on Earth, in the middle of Snowy Ass Fucking Nowhere, but all you can summon is a familiar grim acceptance that feels a lot like sinking. Like a clock slowing down.

You think you might be shaking. Are you? Where are your hands? Why haven't you turned around yet, why aren't you doing anything—

"FUCKING MOVE YOU DUMB SHIT!"

The shout comes from your right less than a second before a small greyish shape comes flying at you. You're pushed roughly out of the way of Karkat Motherfucking Vantas as he leaps in front of you wearing nothing but a sweater and pants, hind claws tearing up the snow, swinging a sickle above his head and yelling nonstop. There's a brief second when you take in the hulking green monster uncomfortably close to you (it's a uranium ogre, you were right, and you wish you could actually be shocked to see one here), crouching awkwardly behind a few skinny tree trunks like it doesn't know what to do with itself, and then it's bolting off into the woods behind the trolls' house.

Karkat runs after it for a few more steps before it disappears into the night, faster than something its size should be. The troll swears a few more times and slows to a halt. He turns to you, and his expression, unsurprisingly, is livid.

"What the fuck was that?" he shouts at you, sickle still clenched in his fist, stomping back to where you're still standing like an idiot. "You slackjawed fucking smear on the underside of the complete farce that is humanity, what the fuck was that?"

You don't know what that was. You don't really know what's going on anymore. Karkat's voice, that obnoxious grating sound that you've gotten so used to over the years, is throwing everything into sharp relief and all of a sudden this whole situation feels as surreal as it should, all the same and different and way, way too soon—

"Holy shit what. What the fuck."

Karkat's hands are on your shoulders, making you look at him, and he's taller than you remember him. You feel a sudden coldness on your lower legs and realize that you're on your knees.

"It's whatever," you hear yourself saying, your voice barely stuttering even though your brain seems to be shrinking rapidly. "Don't worry. It's chill."

"My quivering ice cube of an ass it's chill. You're passing the fuck out on me like Leijon at a Troll Pet Shop Boys concert or something. Jesus. Okay. Hang on, I'll drag you home."

You don't need to be dragged home, you need to fight a goddamn ogre. Karkat's got you under the arms and the only reason you don't resist is because your entire being is buzzing at the edge of panic, pressing heavy on your chest and paralyzing your limbs. You don't have a sword on you. Why did you think you wouldn't need one anymore? Stupid. Where did the ogre go—

"By all things holy to both of our fucking species you'd better remember this Strider, and you'd better feel really fucking bad about making me miss Turner Classic's midnight special when you snap out of this. I want to hear grovelling, asshole, and probably a bouquet of flowers. Not that grocery store shit either, I'm talking full on I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Plastic florist shop arrangements, I wanna feel real fucking special—"

You start laughing but the sound of it startles you and you shut up again instantly as Karkat half-shoves you up the stairs to your house. He doesn't knock before going for the doorknob and immediately shouts into the empty hallway as he heaves you over the threshold.

"LOOK ALIVE FUCKSUDS!" A crash sounds from the vicinity of the kitchen, followed by a string of curses. "MIRACULOUSLY I HAVE STUMBLED UPON A NEAR-ANIMATE OBJECT IN THE SNOW, AND IT'S GOING TO TAKE A LOT OF TEAMWORK TO MAKE IT PASS FOR A HUMAN AGAIN!"

A familiar scruffy-haired head appears from around the doorway to the kitchen. Fuck. Breathing suddenly seems a lot harder.

"Holy shit, Dave?" John asks, wide-eyed.

"Yes, I think we can establish that it's Dave you enormous idiot, I mean his brain's fucked off at the moment but his body is fucking heavy, get over here and help me slap some sense into him."

"I can't, dumbass, there's broken glass all over the floor. Didn't your troll parents ever teach you to knock?"

"Holy shit I don't give a fuck, your best friend is currently slung over me like one of Gamzee's hellpuppets and you're whining about kitchen safety, get the fuck over here. And for the record, how many times do I have to explain the concept of a lusus to you? I was raised by a giant crab. The etiquette of making housecalls was not high on our goddamn priority list."

John scowls and begins picking his way reluctantly into the hallway, while the hurried thumps of footsteps on wooden floorboards foretells the arrival of the house's other three occupants. Rose doesn't even hesitate when she turns the corner, and is at your side before John has even finished griping about the splinters in his feet.

"What happened?" she asks as she helps Karkat guide you to the base of the grand staircase.

"Green bear," you tell her, and it sounds so ridiculous that your mouth twitches around a nervous giggle. Rose looks at you with concern.

"Funny story there, the game happened, jumped out of the fucking bush like a stock cartoon character, not that anyone's fucking surprised," says Karkat.

"What're you doing?" you manage, trying to pull out of his grip on your arm. He and Rose are way too fucking close right now and all the attention on you sits like lead in your lungs. You can't breathe. You can't think. "I'm fine," you try desperately, "look, I'll be fine, just back off."

"Give him some space," Rose says, but Karkat continues trying to manhandle you into a sitting position on the bottom step.

"Are you kidding? Look at his knees. He's gonna fall flat on his fucking teeth the second we let go."

"Oh my god, is he ok?" Jade, hands at her mouth, still in her parka and more or less covered in snow, stands back from the three of you at a nervous distance.

You stumble backwards from Karkat's persistent pushing, barely noticing the pain as your lower back connects with the stair above you, legs at first splayed, then contracting inwards as you withdraw on yourself like a spider that's been knocked on its back.

"I don't know. He got attacked by a bear, apparently?" John says, hopping over on one foot. He peers around Karkat. "Where does it hurt, Dave? Are you bleeding? Do you need us to phone an ambulance? If it's not bad I can call my dad instead if you want."

You stare up into his blue eyes in terror, although you're not sure what of, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that the reason his eyes seem so bright is because your shades have shaken far enough down your nose that you're looking at him over the top of them. You try to answer him, but all that comes out is a strangled whimper.

"John, fuck off," Rose says flatly.

"What?" he says indignantly. "What did I do—"

"I'm sorry, John, but you need to leave. Now."

He stares at her in disbelief for another second before he turns and disappears silently. You aren't sure whether you're relieved, but Rose is gently coaxing Karkat away from you and all of a sudden there's a lot more space to breathe. You suck in air hungrily, pressing yourself against the bannister with your eyes scrunched shut. You're vaguely aware of Rose very politely telling everyone else to get lost but you keep yourself focused on slowing your heart rate before you fucking implode or something.

After a few moments of silence you hear someone slowly approach you on the other side of the railing, and you open your eyes. Rose is squatting parallel to you, not too close, a respectful few inches away from the staircase and not looking directly at you. For once you couldn't be more grateful for her meticulousness.

"Dave," she says quietly. "Are you okay?"

You're still breathing harder than normal, but your shaking has calmed down and your heart sounds more like individual beats and less like a cheap vibrator on its last legs, so you nod. The motion is fluid, well-practised. You know she was there for the entirety of... whatever the fuck that was, and knows perfectly well you're not ok, but a part of you feels a lot better playing it off like it weren't no thang.

"You don't have to be okay," she murmurs. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

You shake your head slightly. Completely chill. Just a dude on a staircase, hanging out. No big deal.

"Alright," she says. A few more moments of silence. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

You leave it a little too long before shaking your head and as a result probably overcompensate with enthusiasm. Rose stands up slowly, and you don't see her expression.

"Alright," she says again. "I'm here if you need me."

And just like that you're alone. You stretch your legs out and the joints make gross cracking noises as you slump back on the staircase. Totally chill.

You're gonna murder that fucking ogre.


End file.
